


The Cat Wants What the Cat Wants

by misura



Category: Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M, Oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The obligatory 'character gets turned into a cat and romance ensues' story no fandom should be without. (Where for 'romance' read 'meowing'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat Wants What the Cat Wants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marycrawford](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marycrawford/gifts).



> many thanks to S, who made me stop thinking about the science and start thinking of the cute.
> 
> or, differently put: I neither regret nor pseudo-scientifically explain anything. unless it's a typo.
> 
> written by way of a treat.

_They say that when people really_ are _out to get you, it's not paranoia._

 _You know what_ is _paranoia?_

_Booby trapping your air vents._

_I mean, seriously._

 

"Oh crap."

"Fawkes? What's wrong? Something in your way, you got a screwdriver. Told you you'd be happy I made you bring one. It's basic, you know. Common sense. You go traipsing down air vents, some guy thinks he's clever putting in some extra grid that wasn't on the design, but ha. Joke's on him, my friend. Joke's on him, because Bobby Hobbes knows where it's at."

"Yeah. No."

"Which is it?"

"The goods news is: you know those movies where they go into the air vents and there's this ventilator that looks like a really big kitchen machine or something? It's not that."

"Could you repeat that? Signal's getting a bit weak. You sure you checked the batteries?"

"It's more like - "

"Fawkes?"

"- and I just want you to know that - "

" _Fawkes!_ "

...

"Oh crap."

 

He vaguely remembered running out air; the burning sensation in his lungs, the rush of Quicksilver flooding through his veins (like turning invisible was going to help) - using Hobbes's stupid screwdriver to try and punch through the metal plate in front of him (pointless), then using his bare hands (he hadn't felt any pain at the time, but he was feeling it now).

At some point, he'd blacked out.

At a point about five seconds ago, he'd blacked in again. He wasn't tied down or anything, which was good - even if they'd only put him in a locked room, he should still be able to do something about getting out. He'd just pretend to still be out of it for a while, keep his eyes closed, wait for -

"Fawkes?"

Or not. "Hobbes?" His sight was ... weird. He blinked a few times, hoping it might just be leftover Quicksilver or something. He flexed his fingers uneasily, wishing there was something to claw at, to fight and scratch and bite. He'd feel lots better after, he was sure of it.

"See? Told you it was him," Hobbes said, and that right there? Not something Darien had wanted to hear.

"It's a cat," the Official said. "It meows. They do that, or so I've been told."

"He," Claire said. "It's a male."

There was a faint smell of dog on her, Darien realized, nose twitching. It had never bothered him before. It didn't exactly bother him now, really, it was just ... there.

"What did I tell you?"

"Bobby."

"It's Fawkes!" Hobbes smelled of ... fake pine? Air freshener, Darien thought. And dust, faintly. "I'm not cuckoo, all right? Don't worry, buddy, we're going to figure this out and then Keepsie here will get you all back to normal, good as new."

His hand was nice and warm and the way he was scratching Darien's head just so was -

"Dear God," Claire said.

"Wait," Darien said. "I'm a cat?" Also, apparently, he had a really big headscratch kink, which he hadn't even know was a thing, but ... okay, so this was kind of embarrassing.

"How many cats you think there are that can turn invisible, huh? Huh?"

"A _cat_?"

Hobbes made some vague petting motions over the air where Darien had been before. It would be sort of nice to get over there, Darien thought; he deserved it, really, after the kind of day he'd had (a _cat_!).

"Darien? If you could - I really need a blood sample. At least. To work with."

Good to know getting poked at with needles was still a major turn-off.

 

"A cat burglar." Hobbes chuckled. "That's you now, Fawkes. Get it? Cat burglar."

Darien considered whether or not it said something flattering about Hobbes that it had taken him two weeks to come up with the joke.

"Yeah, that's really funny, Hobbes," he said.

"Sometimes, I could swear he understands everything I say to him, you know?" Hobbes told Claire, who was sitting behind her computer, lap inaccessible, and frowning.

"Perhaps he does."

"You think the Fat Man's going to give us another mission soon? Me, oh, I'm with the cat. All those criminal mice better watch out."

"Was there anything you wanted, Bobby?"

"Just uh wanted to know if there was any news, I guess."

"No. No news."

"Oh. And uh, I found this thing here. Figured Darien might like it."

Hobbes meant well, Darien knew. He apparently had this strange idea that simply because Darien looked like a cat now, he'd enjoy, well, cat things. Soft squeaky toys. Bouncy balls with bells in them. A scratching post.

Darien didn't like any of those things, really, he didn't.

"There you go, buddy."

 _Whirr!_ went the wind-up toy mouse, and "Are you kidding me?" went Darien, because come on.

And then he chased it around for a bit anyway, because heck, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

 

"If we ever do get you turned back to normal, you could probably start a pet toy store."

Claire had brought a basket for him to sleep in. It had smelled faintly of dog at first. After three weeks, it didn't anymore, which was good, but it was also getting a bit too small.

"Meow," Darien said, then frowned. His tail swished back and forth slowly.

"Darien? Do you need another shot of counter agent?"

He'd barely turned invisible at all recently. Claire had explained things to him - the simple version, at any rate, or so she'd claimed. Darien hadn't really understood much of it, aside from (1) cats were smaller than humans, so he needed counter agent more often, but in smaller doses and (2) she didn't have a clue how to fix him. Yet.

"What do you mean ' _if_ you ever get me turned back to normal'?" he said.

"I'm sorry, Darien, but we really can't risk you going out and getting lost."

"Claire? Are you avoiding the question?"

"There, there." Claire was a good petter. She never made him turn invisible with her petting, either. Getting petted by Claire was just ... comfortable. Pleasant.

Darien sighed and turned his head so she could reach under his chin.

 

It stuck with him, for some reason.

Not the 'pet toy store' idea, but the 'going out' thing. He'd been stuck in Claire's lab for over a month now, and, sure, people came to visit. (Well, Hobbes did. Eberts had, once, but he'd left sneezing and never returned since.) It was rather boring, most of the time.

Getting out would be nice. It wasn't as if there was any real risk of his getting lost; if he simply stuck to familiar places, he should be just fine. Claire worried too much. She was overprotective.

Sure, if she found a cure, Darien wanted to be the first to know. And if she needed some blood, he was willing to sit still and let her take it, no problem. Anything to help. But.

But she'd been working on a cure for a long time, and she didn't seem to be getting any closer.

Darien wanted out. Just for a bit.

 

So walking around looking at things as a cat was kind of cool. Cars were a lot scarier, but luckily, his reflexes seemed lots better; he almost got run over close to a dozen times (he guessed a cat was harder to spot for most drivers than a person) only he always jumped out of the way just in time. He didn't even seem to be thinking about it at all; his body simply acted on its own.

He sauntered past his apartment building, but the only open windows were on the third floor, and he wasn't sure what he'd do at home. Getting in without a key would be next to impossible, anyway.

 

By the time he got to Hobbes's apartment, it had gotten dark already. On the upside, that meant Hobbes might actually be home.

On the downside - well, so what?

Sure, they were partners. Friends, sometimes, even. Darien knew that Hobbes had his back, and he hoped Hobbes knew Darien had his, too. They made a good team.

They'd never be more than that, though.

Darien tried to be content with what he had - a gland in his brains that was probably going to drive him insane and then kill him one day, a job at an Agency of shady business, hardly any friends who weren't in the habit of breaking the law, and oh yeah, his only brother was dead.

If you looked at it objectively, his life really sucked. It sucked _a lot_.

Anyone who wanted to tell him he wasn't entitled to feeling sorry for himself could just go -

\- throw a bucket of cold water over him from one of the balconies? It was _very_ cold, extra wet water, too, and that was the last drop, really it was; Darien had claws and teeth over here, and he wasn't afraid to use them. He'd get up there, see if he wouldn't, and then -

"Some people trying to sleep over here!"

Great. Just great. "Hobbes?" Well, he _had_ been walking in front of Hobbes's home.

"Oh, I'll be - Fawkes? Please tell me that isn't you. You're just a normal cat, right? Hey, you lost, buddy? Want someone to play with?"

"You realize you're sounding like one of those creepy old guys?" Darien asked, reconsidering his previous climb-slash-and-bite plan. "Yeah, it's me. Happy to see you, too. Or I _would_ be."

Hobbes muttered, then disappeared from view. He came out a few moments later, with a towel.

"Okay, you're forgiven."

Happily, the towel made it a lot easier to hide the way parts of his body were going see-through while Hobbes was rubbing him dry.

 

On second thought, he should have stuck with the plan.

Hobbes, the traitor, brought him back to the office. Darien plotted vengeance on the upholstery of Hobbes's car, but once he was inside, his cat's instincts seemed to insist the only proper action to take was to make a lot of noise and turn invisible.

"Found him making a noise outside my window like you wouldn't believe," Hobbes said. "Not happy, sir. Not happy at all."

"He's a cat," Claire said. "Fully grown and male. It's instinct."

"What?" Hobbes said. "Sitting outside your best buddy's window, meowing your heart out for no good reason? No offense, Keepsie, but that doesn't exactly sound like normal happy kitty behavior to me."

Cllaire gestured vaguely. "It's a ... thing. That the males do. When they're ... "

"Ah," the Official said.

"Oh," said Eberts.

"Right," Hobbes said. "So he's just hungry, right? What's the matter, budget too tight for cat food?"

"Actually - "

"Shut up, Eberts. Now, Bobby, you know it pains me to have to say this, really it does, but I'm afraid my hands are tied." The Official spread his hands. "I simply cannot justify paying a G-6 salary to a cat."

"So he's being laid off? Just like that?"

Darien had once offered Hobbes two-point-five million dollars to quit his job. He didn't think Hobbes had been even slightly tempted for a single moment.

"Not 'laid off'. Of course not. He _does_ still carry the gland, after all," the Official said smoothly.

"Well, I won't stand for it," Hobbes said.

The Official sighed. "What does that mean, exactly? You won't stand for it? You're going to sit down? You're going to run into the other direction?"

Eberts chuckled. Hobbes turned red. Claire frowned. Darien butted his head against Hobbes's leg. Hard.

Hobbes scratched him behind the ears. It was divine. "I'm taking him," Hobbes said. "Home. With me."

"Ah," the Official said.

"Oh," said Eberts.

"Anyone's got a problem with that? Huh?"

"Please," the Official said. "Do ... take Darien. With full consent and the necessary protection, of course."

Eberts coughed. Claire flushed. Darien wondered if - naw. He wasn't that obvious. There was no way they knew.

 

Knowing you were going somewhere you wanted to be did not improve the experience of riding in a car in any significant way, Darien discovered.

"If you were just going to take me back here, why did we go there in the first place?" There was a faint smell-trail of pizza leading from Hobbes's living room to the fridge.

"You hungry, Fawkes?"

"No." On second thought, the last time he'd eaten had been back at the lab this morning. "Yes." Now Hobbes would ask which of the two it was, and -

"All right, there you go." Claire had initially tried to make him eat out of an old food bowl of Pavlov's, but Darien had dug in his claws and thus was now able to eat out of a genuine, brand-new Hello Kitty! food bowl. It was very pink, rather girly, really.

Darien'd figured that it was just another side of Claire she didn't usually show at work.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?" It was official: Darien's life was just too hard.

"Hey! No more caterwauling, okay? Got neighbors to the right - I drop a pin, they call the landlord to complain about the noise."

Darien would have objected that, really, he was entitled, but Hobbes - fiendishly clever Hobbes - was scratching his head again, so Darien figured he'd let it go for now.

"There, that's better. Still kind of noisy, but, you know, in a good way. You like that? Sure you do."

 

"Fawkes? Fawkes! Get off, you're heavy."

Typical. Just typical. He hadn't even been here for a full day, and already Hobbes was complaining about it. "Oh, come on. I'm a cat, how heavy can I - oh."

"Yeah," Hobbes said. "Oh. As in: 'oh my, you're heavy, Fawkes'. Ever consider dieting? What, you not getting enough excercise on this job?"

"I ... I just had the weirdest dream." A dream. Well, that made much more sense than anything else, didn't it?

Hobbes's hand on him still felt nice, even if it was just touching his shoulder for a moment, not petting or scratching. "Wasn't a dream, buddy."

Darien blinked. "You mean I really - "

"What, how else do you think we ended up in the same bed without any clothes on?"

"Well." To do or not to do. "I just figured ... the usual way. You know."

"Urgent need to share body heat?" Hobbes scoffed. "Not likely. That kind of stuff's for Russia, Siberia, that kind of place. People around here, they don't know the meaning of the term 'cold enough to freeze your nuts off'."

"Did that ever happen to you?" Not that it seemed at all likely Darien would ever have a use for them, but still.

"Fawkes, we're both naked over here. What does it look like?"

"Um."

"Already seen it all, my shy invisible friend," Hobbes called after him as he made a tactical retreat to the bathroom. "Not impressed."

 

"Fascinating," Claire said, frowning through her microscope at a sample of Darien's blood.

"Thank you."

"Oh, not you. Hobbes."

"Hobbes," Darien repeated. "You think _Hobbes_ is fascinating?"

"The way he just ... doesn't notice your little crush on you." Claire smiled. "It _is_ rather endearing."

" _Thank_ you. So happy my suffering amuses you."

"Don't be like that. You'll get to him in the end." She didn't actually pat his hand, but Darien felt it was a close call. "Well, the gland looks fine. How do you feel?"

"Like I have a little crush on someone who is hopelessly oblivious?"

"So the same as usual, really."

"Yeah. Wow, that is depressing."

"Here. This might cheer you up."

 _Whirr!_ went the wind-up toy mouse.

"Cute," Darien said. There was a slight urge - a very slight urge, to run after it, but he firmly suppressed it.

"Well, if that's your attitude, you're certainly not going to get anywhere."

Darien got out of the chair and shut off his brains for a moment. Three seconds later, he was holding the mouse. To be fair, it hadn't gone very fast. "It's just a toy, Claire. It's not some sort of symbol for life, the universe and everything."

"It could be."

"No, it really couldn't."

 

On the other hand, Claire might have a point about the bit where accepting things as they were meant accepting that they weren't going to change. Darien should know; he'd all but given up on ever getting that damn gland out of his head.

"If there was, you know, some sort of mission where we'd need to pose as, I don't know, a gay couple or something, would you do it?"

On the one hand, it wasn't as if what he had with Hobbes _now_ wasn't worthwhile, too.

"Sure."

"There might be kissing required."

"Bring it."

Too easy, Darien thought. "Seriously?"

"Hey, the mission's the mission."

"So if it _wasn't_ a mission, you wouldn't ... ?"

"Dot-dot-dot? Fawkes, I never dot-dot-dot. Know why? 'cause it's vague, that's why. Bobby Hobbes doesn't do vague. You want something, you can come out and say it."

"I want a coffee. Do you want a coffee?"

"Sure. And Fawkes?"

"Yeah?"

"Two dates. The first one's dinner-and-a-movie, the second one's bowling. You manage a strike, you get lucky - you don't, you get to try again next time. That's how I roll."

"Huh. So what's showing right now that's good?"

"You asking me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm asking you."

"I don't know. What, I look like a movie buff to you?"

"So why don't we skip right ahead to the bowling?"

"Ooh. Fawkes wants to bowl. Think you can take me on, huh?"

"Hm. So what do I get if I manage two strikes?"

"Only one way to find out, my friend, and frankly, I don't think you've got the balls for it."

"Okay, that was a terrible pun."

 

"Honestly, I thought he'd never catch on."

"Well, he's not _completely_ hopeless, you know."

"Yes, he is. He totally is."

"Bobby!"

"What? Just because I want to date him, that doesn't mean I'm blind to his faults or anything."

"You're as hopeless as he is."

"Never claimed otherwise."


End file.
